"And now, sir," I said firmly, "it is but a step to a barber's stop
where English is spoken." And ruefully he accompanied me. I dare say
that by that time he had discovered that I was not to be trifled with,
for during his hour in the barber's chair he did not once rebel
openly. Only at times would he roll his eyes to mine in dumb appeal.
There was in them something of the utter confiding helplessness I had
noted in the eyes of an old setter at Chaynes-Wotten when I had been
called upon to assist the undergardener in chloroforming him. I mean
to say, the dog had jolly well known something terrible was being done
to him, yet his eyes seemed to say he knew it must be all for the best
and that he trusted us. It was this look I caught as I gave directions
about the trimming of the hair, and especially when I directed that
something radical should be done to the long, grayish moustache that
fell to either side of his chin in the form of a horseshoe. I myself
was puzzled by this difficulty, but the barber solved it rather
neatly, I thought, after a whispered consultation with me. He snipped
a bit off each end and then stoutly waxed the whole affair until the
ends stood stiffly out with distinct military implications. I shall
never forget, and indeed I was not a little touched by the look of
quivering anguish in the eyes of my client when he first beheld this
novel effect. And yet when we were once more in the street I could not
but admit that the change was worth all that it had cost him in
suffering. Strangely, he now looked like some one, especially after I
had persuaded him to a carnation for his buttonhole. I cannot say that
his carriage was all that it should have been, and he was still
conscious of his smart attire, but I nevertheless felt a distinct
thrill of pride in my own work, and was eager to reveal him to Mrs.
Effie in his new guise.